Updated: Aug 22
Jesus Christ on a John Deere, where do I begin with this torturous monstrosity of a movie? The best way I could describe it with any accuracy is that it’s gotta feel a little bit like what waterboarding feels like, except you don’t feel like you’re drowning in water, rather, you feel like you’re drowning in a hot, sticky ooze that is someone else’s complete, the fuck, lack of storytelling talent. This movie was so horrendous that I would rather bathe in the harvested ball sweat that poured off of Sly Stallone’s yam bag on the set of Rambo than be forced to sit through it again. Honestly, I do not know where to start.
So, y’all know, of course, that Netflix recently released the story of Madalyn Murray O’Hair, who founded American Atheists, got rid of forced Bible reading in public schools and was dubbed the most hated woman in America. We all also know, of course, that the woman who first held David Silverman’s position, was kidnapped, held hostage for a month and then strangled, chopped up, and buried in a barrel somewhere in wild Texas. This woman, in life and in death, was nothing short of totally fucking fascinating.
And yet, this movie, called The Most Hated Woman In America, was about as interesting as the dried ramen noodle you’re going to sweep out from under your oven during spring cleaning this year. You can’t get it in the trash fast enough.
The story could have been so interesting considering the life Murray O’Hair lived and the death she suffered. The story was anything but interesting, though. It was delivered in the same way you might tell your kids about where babies come from: “When a mommy and a daddy love each other...”
“Honey, first Madalyn had a baby out of wedlock. Then she joined a protest one time. Then she decided she didn’t want her kids saying prayers in school. Then she won the case. Then… Then… Then…”. I can honestly say I have found more artistic flair with the English language on the back of a box of tampons. More plot, too.
The characters were awful -we didn’t get to know or care about a single goddamned one of them, and when you’re telling the story of a kidnapping and murder, you want the audience to fucking feel something. Somehow, the atheists all turned out bad guys, anyway – not a single one of them in the movie was at all likeable in any way, shape or form. I mean, the closest we got to someone likeable at all in the film, was the gay, black fella who insisted the Murrays were missing. But even with him, we barely knew a damned thing. There was no character building whatsoever.
When they finally show you how the captives are taken out, it’s so anti-climactic you actually mutter out loud something along the lines of, “Who knew? Murder can be boring.” There was no build-up. There was no suspense. They did such a shitty job of making us give a shit about the victims at all that by the time they die, you’re all, “Well, thank Jeeboner, that shut them the fuck up!” I get it, Maddy Murray was no saint. I get it, she was supposed to have been literally Hitler. I get it! But murder stories don’t really work unless you feel for either the victim or the perp in some way or a goddamned other. For the love of every boner, even Negan has his cheerleaders! It’s like the writers didn’t want us feeling any emotion for the big, bad, scary atheists in the flick, and in doing that, they eliminated all emotional investment in the story altogether. This flick made us feel about O’Hair, and every other poor fucker in the story, the same way we feel about those low calorie, dry-as-all-of-Satan’s-Hell rye crisp crackers. Not even bacon can save it. It’s gone. It’s lost to the gods of ho-hum; sunk to the bottom of a bowl of unsalted porridge; it’s like a beige four-door Toyota Corolla: passionless, completely devoid of emotion, just fucking blah.
As most of you know, I have a new puppy and kitten. Take your pick of either, sit him or her down with a notepad and a pen, and he or she could have written a better account of Madalyn Murray O’Hair’s life, activism and untimely death. Do not watch this movie. You will find yourself longing for the excitement of passing a plum-sized kidney stone by the twenty-minute mark and by forty minutes you’re going to want to go all Klebold on the Netflix staff responsible for this putrid rot that passes as entertainment. I had to drink myself silly just to get to the end. Sorry, Nicky Cage, but it looks like Bangkok Dangerous has to pass on the crown because I honestly don’t think I’ve enjoyed a movie less, ever. Please, for the love of your own sanity, just don’t fucking do it. You’ll get the same result walking down to your local church and sliding bare-assed up and down the pews until you get a sliver big enough to stab in your eyeballs. When you pull it out of your ass and ram it in your cornea, you’ll have a good idea of what this movie is all about.
Stay away from it. Forget you ever heard of it. Do not watch this movie. Holy fucking Jesus on a popsicle stick, avoid this flick at all costs.
Were you duped into watching this violent assault on your intelligence? What did you think of it? Let me know in the comments!